


Family

by spycandy



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Fluffy, Gen, Kidfic, Warning: child abandonment issues, Warning: suicide attempt by a parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spycandy/pseuds/spycandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin must take care of his nephew and niece, with a little help from the rest of MJN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The heavy tablecloth over the buffet table hung right down to the floor, muffling the sounds of the party and letting in only a dim, green-tinged light. Olivia was glad that she had brought along the tiny LED torch as well as her book – at least Great-Great Aunt Edna's 90th birthday party wouldn't be a complete waste of time now.

She had been reading for some time when her sanctuary was invaded. There was a flash of light as the cloth was lifted, and someone dived into the dark undertable. To Olivia's surprise, that someone was adult-sized. They let out a small “oh” on discovering the girl with torch and book, already curled up in the space.

“I found this hiding place first,” she said.

“Did not. I've been hiding under here regularly, ever since Great Aunt Edna's 70th birthday party,” said the shadowy figure, whose voice turned out to belong to Olivia's Uncle Martin. “So why are you hiding?”

“Everyone asks me what I'm going to do when I grow up, then when I tell them, they tell me all the reasons why I'm wrong and should do something else,” said Olivia, sensing that a grown up who hid under tables might have some idea of why she was cross about that. “What about you?”

“Mostly they tell me why what I did when I grew up was wrong.”

“Oh. So these parties aren't actually going to get any better when I'm older then.”

“I don't know about that. Great Aunt Edna has to die eventually.” Uncle Martin stopped abruptly and swallowed. “Er, I mean... I didn't... er.”

Olivia giggled behind her hands, trying not to make enough noise to give them away. Eventually she heard an answering snort of laughter.

“So what are these plans for when you grow up?” asked her uncle.

“I'm going to be a vet.”

“What specialism?”

That wasn't what adults usually said. Her parents and their friends usually frowned and talked about how competitive veterinary medicine was and what a lot of study it would be for a job that would never make you as rich as being a lawyer or a banker.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Small animals – like pets? Farm animals? Zoo vet maybe, or wildlife?”

That was something new for Olivia to think about, all those choices sounded good. But she knew one thing for sure – Uncle Martin had suddenly leapt to the very top of her favourite relatives list.

“Hsst, Olly! Are you under there?” Olivia twitched the tablecloth twice in answer to her older brother's whisper. A few moments later, Toby wriggled into the increasingly crowded space.

“Uncle Martin's here too,” Olivia told him, knowing that his eyes would still be adapting to the dark. “He's had to come to 20 years of these parties.”

“Hello,” said Toby. “Sorry to hear that Uncle Martin. Come on Olly, Mum's looking for you. Best not let her know you've been hiding under here all afternoon.”

Too late. Olivia could already hear her mother's voice over the hubbub of adult conversation. “Tobias! Olivia Crieff! Where are you hiding you anti-social child?”

Olivia sighed.

“Follow my lead,” said Uncle Martin fiddling with his shirt cuff. A moment later he pressed a tiny metal aeroplane into the palm of her hand, then ducked out from under the tablecloth.

“Can you see it anywhere?” he called back to the hidden children. “It's shaped like a little jet plane.”

That was a brilliant plan, thought Olivia, catching on. “Found it!” she yelled triumphantly, and crawled out on all fours before holding out the plane. Toby followed behind.

Her mother spotted her immediately, of course, and stormed across the room. “What are you doing down there?”

“Hello Sonia, the kids were helping me find my lost cufflink,” said Uncle Martin. “Sorry if they've got a bit dusty down there.”

Her mother just harrumphed, and started herding the family across the room.

>>>

“Carolyn, it's me, Martin.”

“Yes Martin,” snapped Carolyn into the phone. “I rather thought it might be, since you are not here. And you were supposed to be here about 30 minutes ago.”

“I know. Sorry. It's just... there's a family emergency. I can't make it into work today.”

“Martin. What kind of family emergency could you possibly have? You have two siblings you hardly ever see.” She glanced down at the newspaper Douglas was urgently waving under her nose. “Oh! Oh Martin...”

 _Wokingham businessman Simon Crieff was jailed for four years yesterday for his part in the Lartrex fraud case..._

“I assume that rustling I could hear was Douglas showing you the story then.”

“Yes. Look, I'm sorry about your brother, really, but why does that mean you can't fly to Istanbul today?”

“It's not just that. After the sentencing, Simon's wife Sonia took an overdose. Painkillers and vodka I think they said, I don't exactly know. Her 13-year-old son, my nephew Toby, he found her. Called an ambulance. She's in hospital, and they don't know...”

Martin ran out of voice for a moment. Carolyn could hear his breath hitching. “Social services called me to come and pick up Toby and Olivia. I'm on my way there now. But I don't... I don't know what...”

“Deep breaths Martin. Don't worry about Istanbul. And let us know if there's anything we can do to help. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Martin, but he didn't really sound it.


	2. Chapter 2

Martin leaned against the door frame and studied the two small figures curled on his bed, both feigning sleep. Olivia was failing most obviously, her frequent sniffs and sobs giving her away, but her brother twitched and frowned at every sound of distress.

They had been so brave all day, from the moment that Martin had peered into the shabby hospital waiting room where they were hunched together over a jigsaw far too young for either one of them.

“We'd far rather place them with close family than in foster care for now,” the social worker had told him. “It's lucky you're only a 50 minute drive away. Any long-term decisions can wait until Sonia's well enough to be a part of them. But they've had an awful shock – it's best if they stay with someone they know and trust.”

“Of course. Er, I don't have much...”

He'd still been dithering over whether it was his lack of space or lack of experience with children and teenagers that was more of a drawback, but the woman had ploughed on, talking over him.

“You can pick up some of their stuff from the house, I think. You'll have to ask Sgt. Austin. A lot of Mr Crieff's assets are being seized under the proceeds of crime act now that the trial's over, but I doubt they'll want the kids' clothes and school books."

>>>

Which was how he'd found himself parked outside his brother's house, with his nephew, niece and a policeman in tow.

“I'm quite sure we can manage,” he snapped.

“Don't be daft, you probably haven't the first clue what they'll need.” Sgt Austin brushed aside Martin's officious attempt to take some control of the situation. “Now don't get your tail-feathers ruffled. Young, single fellow like you, no reason you should be used to packing for kids, but we don't want them ending up with all t-shirts and no toothbrushes.”

“I'm an _airline captain _. I have to pack a toothbrush every time I go to work,” said Martin, trying not to remember quite how many almost-new toothbrushes he'd left behind in hotel bathrooms by accident in the past few years.__

The fatherly policeman was not to be put off however and he was soon chasing around Simon and Sonia's immaculate minimalist home, calling out reminders for “raincoats” and “PE kit” to the two youngsters who each were filling suitcases and backpacks in their own rooms, before grabbing the quilts off their beds.

“Good idea,” conceded Martin, folding the brightly striped bedding and shoving it into the back of the van. “I don't have many spare pillows and I suppose it'll be good for them to have something familiar around.”

“Yeah.” Sgt. Austin glanced around, checking for young ears overhearing the conversation. “And I've no idea what state the POCA guys will leave this place in. Look, I can't let you take anything properly expensive, but if there's any stuff here of sentimental value to them, grab it now.”

Back in the sleek living room, Martin began searching for family photograph albums, finding only a sideboard full of sparkling glass decanters that the POCA officers would certainly want to claim.

“My piano, Uncle Martin.” It was the first thing Toby had said since Martin's arrival, other than to dully comply with whatever the adults asked him to do. “Will the police take it away?”

Martin glanced at the gleaming wooden grand. The instrument was clearly worth more than he earned in a year. Sgt. Austin nodded sadly. Not that it mattered, since Martin had no room to store even a small upright piano, let alone that monster.

“Sorry,” he said.

“But I've got... Never mind." The angry protest flared and died in an instant, but Toby's eyes didn't leave the piano.

“He's got his grade 7 exams next month,” said Olivia, walking into the room, her arms full of cuddly animals. She was evidently less hamstrung by a conventional sense of perspective regarding how such things ought to pale into insignificance when one's family was falling apart. They didn't, of course, not if they were something you really cared about, like music or flying. Sometimes they were the only thing that made all the awful 'significant' stuff bearable.

“Bring the sheet music then,” said Martin. “We'll have to find somewhere for you to play if you're going to be staying with me for a bit.”

>>>

They'd coped with all of that, and then with their first sight of their uncle's pathetic tiny digs. And they'd politely tried to swallow the spaghetti he'd spooned into mis-matched bowls for them.

There should have been something he could say, something reassuring and comforting, something that would have broken the awful, awkward pauses when he had nothing practical to ask them, but he could not think of one word that didn't sound trite or false. He couldn't promise them that their mother would be all right soon or that their world would be back to normal. He couldn't even offer them the privacy to have a good cry about it all, since he only had the one room, other than the bathroom and small kitchenette. He really was completely useless at this.

He should also have nabbed an airbed from Simon and Sonia's house, although the floor would probably be no less comfortable than some of Carolyn's budget accommodation finds. Tomorrow he'd try to come up with something better.

Olivia's sobs were more obvious now, even though she had turned her face into the fat cuddly hippopotamus tucked in beside her. He might still have no idea what to say, but such a crying fit must have left her hoarse and dehydrated and he could at least do something about that. He turned to the sink in the corner behind him.

“Olivia,” he whispered a few moments later. She kept her eyes pressed against the hippo. “There's a glass of water and some tissues just here on the table by the bed if you need them.”

He was about to back away from the bedside, when he found his arms full of ten-year-old future vet, sobbing and hiccuping against his chest.

“Hey, hush,” he told her. “It's... well no, it's not all right, I know. I know. But you're not on your own Olivia. Your brother's here, yes? And I'm going to be here for as long as you both need me.”

“Uncle Martin?” Toby rolled over, his red-rimmed eyes meeting Martin's properly for the first time that whole day. He looked frightened – more frightened than any teenage boy ever should – but Martin thought there was maybe also a tentative trust there. He unwrapped one arm from Olivia's back and gave Toby what was intended to be a manly shoulder pat of solidarity. He wasn't expecting his nephew to take it as an invitation to launch himself into what was now a family group hug.

“Oof,” said Martin. “Look, I don't know what's going to happen, but we'll muddle through together somehow – I promise you.” He felt Toby's shoulders relax. Olivia calmed, sniffled and nodded against his chest. He squeezed them both a little tighter for a moment.

Neither of the youngsters seemed inclined to let go, so he held onto them both until they fell asleep, thinking about the promise he had just made. He hadn't felt so determined to succeed at something since passing his pilot's exams - but he wouldn't get seven chances to get this right.


	3. Chapter 3

“I need you back at work.”

“They need me more.”

Martin gave Carolyn his most mulish pout. She recognised it as the one he used whenever he was insisting on following a regulation that would not only cost her hundreds of pounds but also meant a walk in a thunderstorm for the captain. The young man was a stickler for duty, no matter what the cost to himself, and this was a duty he couldn't duck if he wanted to.

She'd feared worse, to be honest. Given that Martin's last encounter with a teenage boy had ended with him being karate-chopped, she'd been fully prepared for a scene of chaos. Instead the room was merely cluttered with the remnants of lunch and freshly borrowed library books from the young adult department.

But she did need him back. After Douglas had roped in an 'old friend' as temporary co-pilot, the Istanbul trip had been a nightmare. Douglas might overstep the mark sometimes with what he smuggled onto her aircraft, but he did at least draw the line somewhere before the point of leaving _Arthur_ to deal with irate Turkish criminals. Bob, apparently, had no such qualms.

She'd managed to extract them from the situation by the skin of their teeth, but neither her nerves, nor her bank balance could handle another Istanbul for a while.

“How long is this going to take?” she asked.

“Sonia should be out of hospital by the end of next week, they said. Then there'll be some kind of assessments, I think to find out what kind of support she'll need, and then I can come back,” said Martin with a worried glance out of the window at the park across the road, where his niece and nephew were playing frisbee.

He straightened up, evidently attempting to look steely, managing to look like angry cotton wool at best. “Come on Carolyn,” he said. “I haven't taken any proper sick leave or holiday in three years. You can't fire me for taking a couple of weeks to handle this. Please!”

“My house has five bedrooms.”

“What?”

“Yours appears to have none – just an eating, sleeping, general-making-a-mess space with far too many people living in it. Mine has just enough for me, Arthur, you and the Urchins Crieff to have one each until the end of next week.

“So, what I propose – no, don't interrupt – is that you chuck some of this stuff into your van and remove to Chez Knapp-Shappey. There I can babysit your young charges in comfort the day after tomorrow, while you make a round trip to Germany to deliver a Lincolnshire sausage tycoon to the Bad Durkheim Wurstfest.”

“But....”

“You shouldn't need me on this run, I think Arthur can cope with a glorified butcher and his wares. But what we do need is a pilot.”

“Oh, right,” said Martin, somewhat bewildered by the turn of events. “Do you, by any chance, have a piano?”

“There's an old electronic keyboard of Arthur's somewhere about the place. Is that the sole condition of your agreeing to my very generous plan?”

“Yes. I mean... er, thanks Carolyn. I won't forget this.”

“Well of course you won't Martin. As I shall remind you of it every time you complain about working for my airline, from now until eternity.”

>>>

It was perfect flying weather, just a few fluffy clouds marking the change in atmospheric layers, and for once his take-off had been satisfyingly textbook. Beside him, Douglas was grumbling about the dearth of decent restaurants in Bad Durkheim, since Josef's closed down, but Martin wasn't listening.

After days of non-stop worry, he just wanted to concentrate on the blue sky ahead and the low rumble of the jet engines powering them forwards. This he understood. He might not have a natural aptitude for it, but he did, at least, always know what he was _trying_ to do.

It wasn't like driving home from hospital visits, not knowing how to break the tense silence other than with word games borrowed from Douglas' infinite collection. Nor was like staying up late playing computer games until Toby was too tired to fear the inevitable nightmares.

Damn it! The blue sky was becoming a watery blur, and it wasn't anything to do with atmospheric conditions. He interrupted a lengthy monologue on the topic of good spätzle.

“Douglas, you have control.”

“Martin?”

“Just... take over please, I need you to fly the plane.”

“Fine, I have control.” At least Douglas didn't sound irritated. More... worried?

As he sank back into his chair and closed his eyes, he could hear Douglas flicking switches. He waited for the mockery of his latest mid-air meltdown to begin, but a few moments later he instead felt a warm hand pat him on the arm.

“There, there,” said Douglas, sounding uncomfortable in his sincerity.

“I'm sorry.” The words burst out as a strangled sob.

Before he realised what was about to happen, Douglas had grabbed the intercom and bing-bonged for Arthur.

“What can I get you chaps?”

“Coffee for me please Arthur, and I think the skipper needs a coffee, some tissues and a hug.”

“Douglas...” Martin whined. He'd been so _nice_ for one moment there. Did he have to bring everyone in to have a look at how pathetic the captain was?

“Well, you do. And since a. I'm busy keeping this big aeroplane from spiralling out of the sky and b. I don't do hugs, it'll have to be Arthur. I'm sure he can manage though.”

“Hello!” said Arthur, as he elbowed his way through the door, two coffees held precariously in one hand and a box of tissues in the other. “Were German air traffic control really mean again? Oh.”

Martin took the last small noise of shock to indicate that he looked to be in a far worse state than any mean ATC could ever produce.

“Oh no, Skip, what's happened? It's not more Bad Family News is it?”

“No, no, it just all got on top of me a bit. I'd not had time to think about it all really, y'know. My brother's in jail and... and his wife's...”

“A total flake who reacted to the loss of her sports car and diamonds by attempting to top herself in front of her own children?” suggested Douglas, who had obviously been talking to Carolyn.

“His wife's been really ill,” corrected Martin, although the alternate point of view was tempting. “And the kids are so frightened and confused and I just don't know what I'm doing.” His voice warbled tearfully as he admitted it out loud.

Arthur was indeed good at hugs. Even in the awkward confines of the flightdeck he was able to manage a sort of sideways shoulder squeeze. “I think you're doing really well,” he said. “And so does Toby – he told me so while you were making their packed lunches this morning.”

“He did?”

“He said – now, let me get this right – he said he'd been a bit surprised when Olly told the social workers you were their favourite uncle, but she'd made exactly the right choice.”

He'd just assumed they'd only called him after exhausting every other possibility. “Oh,” he said. He took a sip of his coffee, suddenly feeling much better.


	4. Chapter 4

“I can't help noticing, Martin, that you have returned with the exact same number of children you left with this morning,” said Carolyn, once the youngsters in question had been supplied with cold drinks and shoo-ed into the garden to play with the dog. She kept her tone light. Given the expression on all three faces as they'd got out of the van, things hadn't gone quite as expected at the meeting with Sonia, who was supposed to have been released from hospital that day.

“Turns out, the incident with the pills and the vodka wasn't a one-off,” said her pilot, pacing across the kitchen. “Apparently both had featured pretty heavily since Simon's arrest – although not both at the same time until the sentence was passed and the asset seizure order was made.

“She's... well, she's going into rehab, which is good of course. Best thing, really. And maybe she'll be able to get herself together enough to look after Toby and Olivia eventually, but it could be a while. And Simon won't be out for two years, at best.”

“All that was said in front of the kids?” Carolyn winced at the idea.

“It was pretty brutal. But maybe it's better to have it out in the open, so they don't suspect adults are hiding stuff from them. Anyway, if they're to stay with me now, I have to be assessed as a kinship foster carer.” He waved a handful of advice leaflets, handbooks and flowcharts as he whirled to pace in another direction.

“I know I said it would only be until the end of this week, but I don't think my place would pass the assessment.” Martin chewed on his lip, looking utterly desperate. “Could we stay here a bit longer? At least until I work out what all this lot means? They said something about allowances... maybe I could rent a bigger place.”

In truth, Carolyn had been a little sad to watch them drive away that morning, possibly for the last time. Even muted by all that had happened to them, the youngsters were still a bright presence in the house, whether practising Bach on an unsuitable keyboard or playing daft games invented by Arthur. Not to mention, Martin was so determined to earn their keep that she'd barely had to wash a dish all week.

So, if they had nowhere else to go for the time being there was no need for a fuss. The rooms would be there anyway and there was something to be said for having an employee exactly where you could see him.

“There's no hurry to leave Martin,” she said, making a grab for the leaflets. “Now, lets have a look at this lot – I had some dealings with the family courts before Arthur turned 18, maybe I can decode some of this jargon for you.”

>>>

He had arrived ten minutes early and the van was much too stuffy to sit in with the engine off, so Martin paced back and forth on the pavement outside the piano teacher's front door, trying not to look like a sinister lurker.

The upper portion of the ground floor front window was ajar and through it he could hear the piece Toby had been working on all week, finding time for practice despite all the hectic business of enrolling at a new school. It had been a busy week for the adults too, as every member of the household had been assessed and vetted – including the dog – and thankfully he had been approved for official foster care of his nephew and niece.

Thinking about the scope of his new responsibilities, as laid out by the family support worker at the induction training session, made Martin catch his breath. He concentrated on the music instead. It sounded a lot better on a real piano, although he thought Toby was still rushing through some parts.

“Andante, Toby. Don't speed up just because you're nearly at the end.” A woman's voice from inside the room confirmed his thoughts. “Shall we finish with something jolly?”

“Gershwin?” Toby's idea of jolly was clearly not that of the average 13-year-old, but a moment later Martin recognised a bouncy rendition of S'Wonderful. He couldn't help joining in a little, murmuring under his breath at first.

By “S'awful nice!” however, he was singing properly, which was of course the exact moment the front door opened and Toby's piano teacher peered out.

“Hello, mysterious stranger with a lovely voice,” she said, with a crooked smile that lit her pretty eyes. “Are you Mr Crieff?”

“Um. Hello. Yes. Er, call me Captain... I mean Martin... I... yes, I'm Toby's uncle. Good to meet you Ms Choudhury.”

“Call me Neela.” she said, managing not to laugh at his bumbling introduction. “Would you like to come in for a moment? We need to discuss Toby's exam.”

Of course. It had been one thing just to pick Toby up from his lessons, but now he would have to make decisions about things like this. It was a long round trip for a half-hour lesson and he wasn't even sure whether he could afford things like exam fees on top of the already worrying lesson bill, but Toby had asked for nothing else and the last thing Martin wanted to do was take away that bouncy Gershwin rhythm from the boy.

“Hi Uncle Captain!” called out Toby as they walked in, confirming that he had overheard Martin's lamentable effort at simply talking to an attractive woman. “Great singing!”

>>>

He spotted his ridiculous brother from the far side of the visiting room – not difficult, given that he was wearing that absurd airline uniform. No doubt it was intended as a vindictive reminder that funny little Martin now had his dream job, while he, the golden boy and successful businessman, was stuck in jail for taking a few short cuts and twisting a few truths. Nothing more than anyone did who wanted to make money.

Martin was fidgeting in a plastic chair as Simon was delivered to their table by a guard.

“How are you doing Simon?”

“Just wonderful!” he snarled sarcastically. “Five star service in Her Majesty's over-crowded prison. Never mind that – did you manage to rescue much from the house before those POCA vultures got there?”

“Oh. Yes.” Hmm, maybe he hadn't given his brother enough credit for initiative, after all. “All the kids' school stuff, plenty of clothes – Olly managed to squeeze a remarkable amount of stuff into one suitcase. I couldn't find any photo albums, but I picked up all the framed family pictures I could find.”

“Kids' stuff! Photo albums!” spluttered Simon, leaving to one side the fact that his brother was using Toby's dreadful pet-name for Olivia with such easy familiarity. “You idiot, that house was stuffed with antiques and expensive designer pieces.”

Martin looked crestfallen. “There... there was a policeman there,” he stammered.

“Some ordinary plod wouldn't have a clue what was valuable. Didn't you save _anything_?”

Martin's features froze. “Oh, he knew exactly what’s really valuable,” he said. There was something cold and angry in his voice that Simon had never heard from his brother before. “It’s a shame that you don’t. Your children are fine, by the way, thanks for asking, apart from, you know, the huge emotional trauma of almost losing both their parents and their home on one day. But never mind that, eh? So long as the silver candelabra are okay.”

The idiot was shouting by the end of this little diatribe, and out of the corner of his eye, Simon could see that a couple of guards had spotted the commotion. Within moments they’d hauled Martin away from the visiting table and thrust him without ceremony through the door to the outside world.

Fuck! thought Simon as he slouched back to his cell. He’d not had a chance to raise the topic of transferring money from the investments that were held in the children’s names into the secret Swiss account. Not to worry though, there was still plenty more.  
>>>

“You're looking awfully pleased with yourself Douglas.”

“Indeed I am. I've just exchanged £180 worth of Spanish saffron for a set of Japanese chef's knives, worth considerably more than that. And we should easily be back in Fitton in plenty of time for me to pick up my daughter from the station.”

Martin had never paid much attention to his first officer's shared custody visits before, but given his new circumstances, perhaps it was something they could bond over. Well, no, that was going a bit far, but they could talk about things.

“How long is she staying?”

The frown that chased across Douglas' face was a clear clue that that was the wrong question to ask.

“Just three days. Well, we're off to Moscow after that, aren't we?” said Douglas, sounding decidedly tetchy. “And Alex has school near her mum's and she doesn't have any friends here, so she never really wants to stay all that long.”

“Oh, that's a shame. Wait, she's what? 12 now? Would she... would you maybe... no, you probably have plans already.”

“Spit it out Martin. What?”

“Olly's a shy kid and doesn't have many friends here yet either.” That was putting it mildly. The poor girl seemed to have inherited all of her uncle's social ineptitude right along with his undertable hiding skills. While Toby had made instant friends in his new class and the school orchestra, Olivia had so far brought home no invitations to play at other girls' homes.

“Are you seriously suggesting that after spending the best part of 48 hours trapped in your company in this flying tin can, I might want to spend my hard-earned time off with you and your kin?”

“Sorry. Forget it.”

Douglas sighed. “No, actually it's not a bad idea. I'd promised a trip to the leisure pool on Sunday afternoon, would the Crieff _enfants_ like that?”

“Yes, I think they would,” said Martin, brightening. “Mind you, after that refresher course in Ipswich, I rather got the impression you weren't all that keen on swimming.”

“ _They_ swim Martin. We find a nice table in the café, with a good view of the bikini-clad lovelies in the fast-lane of the grown-ups' pool, and we read the papers over a cup of coffee.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Golf Tango India, be advised, we have thick fog over Fitton. Visibility is at 150 metres. I'll turn the approach lights up for you.”

“Thank you Carl,” said Martin and returned to humming _Zip-a-dee-doo-dah_ under his breath. Not even having to land in a pea-souper could dampen his spirits today.

“So are you going to tell me why exactly it's such a wonderful day?” asked Douglas.

“I have a date. I think.” Martin faltered. “I think it's a date, it might just be a rehearsal.”

“A rehearsal for a date? Martin, I know you're out of practice, but that's...”

“A rehearsal for a concert. Neela asked me to go along to a scratch choir session.”

Martin had already overcome stomach-churning anxiety once to suggest that the piano teacher join the family for a celebratory restaurant dinner, after Toby had passed his grade 7 with distinction. He'd been rather pleased with how the evening went. Conversation flowed easily and he hadn't put his foot in it once. His flying anecdotes about MJN mishaps had made the whole table laugh.

He'd still been trying to think of a way to raise the topic of perhaps going out again, maybe in an adults-only way, when Neela had asked him, “So, do you sing? Other than serenading in the street, I mean?”

“We belt out a tune on the flight deck to pass the time sometimes.”

“It's just, you do have a good voice, and one of my former students has started a community choir project. Bit of Handel, bit of Sondheim. You should come.”

So far, so neutral – maybe leaning more towards friendly choir recruitment rather than date. But then she'd added, “And we could go for a drink afterwards.” Martin thought that rather edged it over into 'date' territory. Didn't it?

“Cough - landing gear – cough.”

Douglas' unsubtle warning sent Martin into a flurry of checking instruments and switches. How had he allowed himself to get so distracted with an IMC landing coming up? What had he not done?

It was only when he heard the first officer's low chuckle that he realised everything was, in fact, just as it should be – all set for approach.

>>>

The very instant that they had taxied to a halt, Carolyn's voice crackled over the radio. “Martin, come over to the office right now.”

“But...” He wanted to take a moment to revel in the fact that his landing had been only a very small amount bumpier than his clear day landings, whatever rattled joints Douglas might now be pretending to have suffered.

“Douglas can finish up by himself.” That was Carolyn's extremely serious, listen-to-me voice. Martin swallowed. Something was wrong. “The police are here.”

>>>

As he approached the office hut, Sgt. Austin loomed out of the fog, accompanied by a taller man in a brown suit, who stuck out a hand and introduced himself as DI Strachan.

“No joke landing in this stuff, eh?” he said, voice echoing in the sinister weather conditions. “Now don't panic Captain Crieff, but when did you last speak to your brother?”

“Three weeks ago, I think. Yes, I went to let him know about the kids' new school arrangements, but we never got around to talking about that. It all got a bit... um. Is this about that? I tried to apologise to the prison officers, but they just chucked me out.”

“It's not about that, sir. He's escaped.”

“How?” asked Carolyn, appearing suddenly out of the mist.

“He bribed one of the prison education staff. Five thousand quid! It seems the asset-confiscation wasn't quite thorough enough,” said Sgt. Austin. “Anyway, we thought he might have tried to get in touch with you.”

“I've been in Dublin. But he probably wouldn't anyway. We don't exactly get on.”

“Okay. However, prisoners on the run do quite often try to make contact with their children. In our experience, there's a high risk of attempted kidnap. ”

Martin felt the blood drain from his face. He thought he might be sick. Even if Simon gave the impression of caring more about his investments than his offspring, he was their father – he must love them really. But would he try to take them away? How could a 10 and a 13-year-old cope on the run from the law? How much danger might they be in? Where were they right now?

“We've already sent officers to their schools to pick them up, sir. They're fine. But I'm afraid we're going to have to keep a close watch on all of you until Mr Crieff turns up.” The detective stopped, looking to Martin as if for a decision about something.

“Hello. What's going on?” asked Arthur, arriving on the scene followed by Douglas. At the sight of his co-pilot, Martin fervently wished he could hand over control of the whole situation to someone who was more useful in a crisis than himself. He'd landed in thick fog, damn it. That was his full ration of calm-under-pressure for the day.

“Simon escaped,” he summarised for the latecomers, voice shaky. “They think he might try to take the children.”

“Well then,” said Arthur after a moment's worried and awkward silence from all six people standing around in the fog. “Everyone back to ours for pizza and board games then. Come on – police versus pilots versus children versus me and Mum.”

>>>

“You're all right!” Olivia yelled as she ran from the police car to fling herself against Uncle Martin. Once she had her arms wrapped around his middle, the terror of the past half hour ebbed away. Why couldn't the police have said so? All they'd said was that it wasn't about her mum this time and that someone would explain everything once she got home.

The police car had moved slowly through the traffic chaos caused by the dreadful weather, with horns blaring out of the gloom. If it was like this on the foggy roads, she had thought, landing a plane must be really hard. And what if... what if... what if...

“The last time police collected her from school was after I found Mum after she'd... after I found Mum on the floor,” Toby was saying somewhere above her head.

“Come inside,” said Uncle Martin. “Olly, can you let go just a little bit so we can move?”

In the front hall, Alex's dad was talking to another policeman. Arthur popped his head out of the kitchen to give her a friendly wave, but Uncle Martin guided them through into Carolyn's sitting room and told them to sit down on the pretty yellow sofa. He crouched down in front of them.

“The police are here because your dad's escaped from prison. They think he'll come to get you,” he said.

“Fat chance!” scoffed Toby. “He wouldn't come to get us if we were in a burning building.”

“Toby, I'm sure that's not true. He's your dad.”

“Don't be an idiot Uncle Martin. If he cared about looking after us, he'd be doing his best to get time off for good behaviour, so he could come home properly as soon as possible. He'd write to us! He'd have bothered to find out if I passed my piano exam!”

Toby was shouting now and his face was all red and blotchy. “Or do you want him to come and take us away, so you can get back to your own life without us getting in the way of everything? Is that it?” Olivia covered her ears with her hands. No, no, it couldn't be true. Could it?

Uncle Martin tugged gently at one of her wrists and she lifted her hand just enough to hear what he would say. “Listen to me Toby. Olly,” he said. “Don't ever think for one single moment that I'd prefer to have my life before you back. I love having you here – even if here is the spare rooms in my boss's house at the moment. Before, the only thing I used to really look forward to was flying. Now I look forward to coming home. To you two.”

>>>

“I didn't get a chance to say earlier. That was the best instrument conditions landing I've seen you do,” said Douglas.

“Really? Thanks Douglas.”

Arthur, rummaging through the pile of take-out leaflets that lived on top of the fridge, smiled at the over-heard exchange. Good for Douglas! That should cheer Skip up a bit.

“Don't forget to call your date,” added Douglas. “Postpone maybe? There'll be another choir practice you could go to.”

Martin sighed, but a moment later he wandered into the kitchen and gestured to Arthur that he needed to borrow the phone.

Having found a pizza leaflet, Arthur started the careful process of working out exactly how many of what kind of pizza would leave everyone too stuffed to fret, without Mum complaining about wasted leftovers. Behind him, Martin was apologising and explaining the situation, which sounded only slightly less frightening in the warmly lit house than it had in the eerie fog on the airfield.

“... You would? Are you sure? We're playing Trivial Pursuit against the police at the moment... No, they're winning... I can get Arthur to increase the pizza order – any preference?” He laughed – a proper tension-free giggle. “Yes, that sounds like a good idea too. Okay, I'll see you at about eight.”

“Right. Okay. Yes,” said Martin once he'd put the phone down. Then, “Arthur, could you add one more person to your pizza calculations please? Neela's coming over.”

“Aw, brilliant!”

“Do you think so? It's a fairly bizarre evening to invite someone to, but she offered to bring ice cream and some DVDs for once everyone starts to lose the will to Triv.”

>>>

A lot of cups of tea were drunk. A lot of small plastic wedges were won (the pie/cheese debate raged for some time). DI Strachan's vast knowledge of movies finally gave Team Police an edge against Team Pilots, but it turned out that he had never seen the delightful Japanese cartoons Neela brought with her, along with a giant tub of cookie dough ice cream.

Toby, who had long-since apologised for calling Martin an idiot, snuggled against his uncle's side, fast asleep. Olly was similarly propped against Carolyn, who was drowsing off herself. It was well after midnight when Douglas and Neela let themselves out, with whispered promises from both to call in the morning in case there was any news.

The sun was already up and, from the chink of blue that was visible between the imperfectly drawn curtains, the fog had cleared, when Martin was woken by a phone ringing. Sgt Austin's voice answered it. Most of the conversation was muted mumbling, but he signed off saying, “Right then, I'll let them know.”

As Martin blinked sleepily, the policeman tip-toed across the living room towards him.

“Cap'n Crieff? I've only just been told. Seems Mrs Crieff is missing too. She told one of the other patients she was leaving the country with her husband and that tomorrow she'd be sunning herself on a beach somewhere with no extradition treaty.”

“What about the children?”

“She didn't mention them apparently.”


	6. Chapter 6

For the next three weeks, the police kept in close contact, issuing everyone with panic buttons and direct phone numbers just in case. But it was clear that they believed, as Martin did, that Simon and Sonia had fled the country with no intention of gathering the rest of their family.

During those three weeks, it gradually dawned on Martin that that meant _this_ was now permanent. While it had still been a case of “until Sonia's well enough” or “while Simon's completing his sentence” all he had to worry about was keeping the children fed, clothed, sheltered, educated and comforted. And that was plenty of worry.

Now that it was forever and always, there was infinitely more to worry over. Now he was responsible for their hopes and dreams.

“... and then there's university! What if the fees get any higher? Veterinary medicine is five years!” he squeaked, having a small meltdown in the flyers' lounge at Toulouse airport. Even now that Carolyn had agreed to pay him something resembling a very junior pilot's salary, the cost of raising two children alone seemed overwhelming.

“Their first heartbreaks! Driving lessons! A levels! What if they're ill? What if they fail at what they want to do?”

“Then they'll still have you there and they'll still know you love them.” Douglas' words were wise and calming, but his tone was morose. As Martin's tizz subsided he realised he might have been a little tactless.

“Oh Douglas, Alex knows. She thinks you're the bees knees.”

The first officer raised a doubtful eyebrow.

“She does! She's hardly going to let on though is she? She's very nearly a teenager – 'my parents don't understand me' is practically compulsory. However, I happen to have been privy to an interesting game of 'my pilot's better than your pilot' while Olly and Alex were trying to assemble that hammock in the garden last weekend.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Apparently you make a brilliant lasagne, are brilliant at helping with geography homework and you make long car journeys totally brilliant even when they should be dead boring.”

“Good lord,” said Douglas. “We're letting them spend far too much time with Arthur. It's ruining their vocabulary.” His damp-eyed goofy smile belied the joking comment though and Martin decided to forgo mentioning that Olly had one-upped all of that with, “Yes but Uncle Martin's the captain.” Not right now anyway.

>>>

“Have you found Simon?”

“Not yet,” said DI Strachan, placing his briefcase on the kitchen table and twiddling the combination wheels with his thumbs. “But the forensic accounting team turned up some things that were missed in the original investigation.”

“Oh?”

“Well, of course there was the money that they failed to notice he was siphoning into secret banks abroad. But there were also some accounts kept in the children's names.”

It shouldn't have been all that startling, thought Martin. Didn't most well-off parents start college funds, trust funds, that kind of thing? But after the insight the past few months had offered into Simon and Sonia's parenting he was pleasantly surprised to learn that, in their own money-centric way, the couple did care something for their children. However, it was no good getting his hopes up, they wouldn't be allowed to keep it.

“I assume it all goes straight to Simon's creditors now.”

“Actually no. That's why I came over. The money's very definitely legally Toby and Olivia's.” Strachan grinned, clearly enjoying delivering some good news for once. “The accounts pre-date the fraud and seem to have been opened with inheritance money from Sonia's father. There's, er, rather a lot of money.”

“A lot?” asked Martin, dazed. “Like, enough to cover university fees?” That would be a huge worry off his mind.

“And then some,” said the DI, finally pulling two bank statements out of his briefcase and pushing them across the table.

Martin stared at the figures for a moment, blinked and then blinked again. The numbers continued to be really very large.

“Golly,” he said.

>>>

“The money is entirely yours,” he explained that evening. “It's £75,000 each, which is quite a lot. I think the best thing to do is to put it into savings accounts until you're 18. Then you can decide how best to spend it, whether that's on studying or whatever you choose.” He'd have spent it all on flying lessons, he knew that much. And it might not have been a wise decision, but it would have been his to make, just as it should be theirs.

“I don't want to invest it all in a savings account Uncle Martin,” said Toby, with his most grown-up face in place. “I'd like to put some of it into property please.”

“What do you mean Toby?”

“I mean, I know you've been house-hunting for somewhere for us to live that you can afford on what you get paid for flying and the allowance you get for having us and so far, everywhere you've found is totally gross and titchy.”

That was true enough. The property search was not going well. He hadn't realised how much of that the children had noticed. But... “I can't spend your money Toby. That wouldn't be right.”

“I didn't say that though, did I? I said I could invest in a house – like, I 'd put in £20,000 and then I'd own ten percent of our house.” For an uncomfortable moment, Martin was reminded that Toby was a businessman's son, who had no doubt heard this kind of thing discussed over and over. But Toby wasn't looking for a profit on this deal, he was looking for a home.

“Oh yes, me too!” said Olly. “That would still leave enough to go to vet school wouldn't it?”

It wasn't actually a bad idea - a pleasant and stable place to live was a top priority right now and with a good deposit they'd even be able to afford the comfortable little three-bedroomed house that an over-ambitious estate agent had shown him the previous week. “All right. How about you both put £60,000 of the money into savings for when you're grown up? Plus you can each invest £10,000 in a house for all of us. And that leaves...”

“Enough to buy a proper piano!” yelled Toby, dropping the grown-up façade and becoming an excited 13-year-old at last. The boy would live in a house totally unfurnished but for a piano and piano stool, if needs be.

“And a chinchilla!” added Olly.

>>>

On the day that they moved in, Martin's van was considerably more full than when he'd first driven it around to Carolyn's. As well as the surprising amount of stuff they'd already managed to acquire over the past few months, it seemed like everyone just happened to be getting rid of various items of furniture that week. Even Sgt. Austin had popped over with a stack of family-sized cooking dishes he claimed his wife was about to chuck out.

Olly had gone to arrange her new bedroom, leaving Martin and Toby unpacking items into the kitchen cupboards. While Toby chattered on about school orchestra, Martin hummed a cheery passage from the medley of Renaissance love songs they had been working on at choir the previous night.

Afterwards, he'd taken advantage of the final evening of having Carolyn so close at hand to spend a couple of hours alone with Neela. A quiet drink at the pub near the rehearsal hall had been followed by unexpectedly giggly sex in the back of the van.

“...and then Jed said liking show tunes made you gay and I said that was an outdated stereotype, but Uncle Martin, how would I know if I was gay?”

Martin, who had been busy replaying the best bits of the previous evening and only half listening up to that point, attempted to catch himself up with the conversation, since the question merited a proper and sensible answer. “You're right Toby, all that stuff about show tunes and fashion, that doesn't tell you anything other than what people like to listen to or wear. I think the only big clue to sexuality is that gay men are attracted to other men, and don't fancy women,” he said.

“What about cricket players?” asked Toby. “Last year I said something to Dad about one of the England players being nice-looking and he said he didn't want me growing up to be a poof and tore all my cricket posters down.”

Damn Simon. Damn him to hell and back. How dare he tell this wonderful, talented, thoughtful boy to be anyone other than who he was? Or whoever he turned out to be.

“In this house,” said Martin, determined to put that right, “You can have posters of whoever you want. And if you want to go and see your cricket player in a live match, then we could do that too. I bet Douglas knows how to get tickets.”

>>>

Dinah stood on the pavement outside the Crieffs' new house, holding a gaudily wrapped gift in one hand and a bundle of documents in the other. She suspected the documents would spark more excitement than the striped teapot, even though she didn't often buy gifts for her clients.

Mind you, when you worked in the family courts, few clients were quite so cheering as the Crieffs. Abandoned children rarely fell on their feet in quite the way that Toby and Olivia had done. They might not be as materially well-off as they'd once been, but never once in all the reports she'd had to write on the family to get to this point had there been any doubt in her mind that they were now well cared for.

She rang the doorbell and a split-second later was greeted by Olivia, who dragged her through to the dining room, where several familiar faces awaited. She'd had to run checks on all of these people over the past few months, most recently the woman who was now resting her chin affectionately on Martin's shoulder as he unwrapped a large rectangular object. Not one of them had ever objected to the prying questions, accepting them as the price for involvement in the children's lives. But not for much longer.

The big parcel turned out to contain a framed vintage BOAC poster, a world map, criss-crossed with flight paths. “Wow, thanks Douglas. That's stunning,” said Martin, whose colleague looked even more pleased with himself than usual. “Hello Dinah, thanks for coming.”

“Happy house-warming!” she said, putting the parcel down on the dining table. “And I've got some paperwork here that I believe you've been waiting for.”

“It all went through? No problems?”

“No problems at all. The judge signed on the last dotted line this morning. Congratulations Martin, you now officially have Special Guardianship of Toby and Olivia. All legal rights and parental responsibilities are now yours.”

It was scenes like the celebration that followed that made Dinah's job worthwhile.

>>>

 **Six months later...**

Martin waited until they were at cruising altitude before popping the question. “So, er, Douglas. Would you... um, would you be willing... ah...”

“Spit it out Martin. What do you want?”

“Will you be my best man?”

“Damn! You proposed? She said yes?” asked Douglas.

“Yes! You could be a bit more cheerful about it.”

“Hold on,” said Douglas, reaching for the intercom. “Arthur – could you pop up to the pointy end please? It turns out I owe you that banana muffin after all.”

“BRILLIANT!” came back Arthur's reply.

“Now that's out of the way, yes Martin, I will be your best man. And congratulations.”

“Wait a minute! You were betting on her saying no?” Martin was seriously considering withdrawing his request.

“Actually, I bet the muffin on Neela doing the proposing.”

“Will it be a big Indian wedding then?” asked Arthur, bouncing onto the flight deck. “Will you get to ride an elephant?”

“That... seems unlikely,” spluttered Martin. “What with Neela being half Bangladeshi, half Welsh.”

“Oh, no elephants at Welsh weddings then? That's a shame.”

“I'm not sure that it is. Where would we have got an... oh never mind. Arthur, would you be an usher?”

“What would I have to do?”

“It'll be just like being at work,” said Douglas. “Only instead of asking people “window or aisle?” it's “bride or groom?” By the by, that inner ear problem of yours Martin. Is it space worthy?”

“Space worthy?”

“Well, upper atmosphere anyway. I was just thinking about the unique challenge of organising a stag party presumably consisting of one teetotal alcoholic, one 14-year-old boy, one simpleton steward and one you. And it occurs to me that there's a chap at Virgin Galactic who owes me a favour.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Thirteen years later.**

“If your parents would like to have a family picture...”

The official photographer's well-rehearsed patter earned him rolled eyes from both Carolyn and Olly.

“You surely can't be this young woman's grandmother.”

“Indeed not,” said Carolyn with a withering glare.

“This is my Uncle Martin and his former boss Carolyn, CEO of MJN Air, now retired,” Olly told the snapper. “Hold on.

“Oy, Senior Aircraftman Crieff!” she shouted. “Could you assemble the troops please?”

Toby, dressed down in smart civvies, grinned at his sister before jogging off towards the crowds milling around the refreshment stands. He'd been lucky to get leave to come today – Swing Wing, the RAF big band, was in high demand all over the world at this time of year and now that he was acting as a deputy musical director, the young bandsman was in for a hectic summer.

Martin looked back at his niece, who was struggling to straighten the teal-ribboned black hood of a Nottingham University veterinary medicine graduate gown. He felt so proud, he thought he might just burst.

“Come here,” he said, reaching to fix the wonky hood, then pulling her into a hug, which made it even wonkier. “Congratulations, my brilliant girl.”

“Thanks Uncle Martin. For believing that I could do this, even when I doubted it.”

“I knew you'd succeed from the moment you first told me what you wanted to do – under Great Aunt Edna's buffet table, remember?” he asked

Olly's mouth gaped. “You remember that?”

He held up his wrists to her, turning them so that the tiny jet plane cuff links glinted in the sunlight.

“Of course I do,” he said. “Ah, here come the gang.”

Toby led the way across the lawn with his arm linked through Neela's. Behind them came Arthur, Douglas and Alex, all in their best summer finery.

“Right!” Olly commanded. “I want one good shot with everyone in, so no pulling tongues or bunny ears.”

As the photographer shuffled them all into place for the picture, Martin heard his puzzled question to the new graduate in the centre. “So who _are_ all these people then?”

“This lot?” said Olly. “This is my family.”


End file.
